The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Grandma’s Clutch
by Satcha Russell

The strangest thing about Grandma’s clutch was the three eyes stitched onto it, or that’s how it seemed from a distance. When you got closer, leaned in and really looked, you could see it was made of fur with two cat heads still fully intact. Gram carried the small bag everywhere. She took it shopping, to all the events she attended, and out to lunch every Thursday with her Red Hatters.

One summer, I was staying with her because Mom was working over the school break and didn’t have the money to send me to camp. Gram was always gracious, she made sure our days were filled with places to go and things to do. When the first Thursday came around, I thought she would up and go to her luncheon leaving me behind. But not Gram, she wasn’t leaving her pride and joy home to enjoy an afternoon in front of the ever-beloved tube, she was taking me with her to meet the girls. And, of course, she was carrying the weird handbag. It kinda gave me the creeps the way it always seemed to stare, but she liked it, so I guess everyone just ignored it—I know I did.

The ladies at Grandma’s coffee clutch went ga-ga over meeting me. Apparently, she liked to bore them with details of her grandkid’s life. They seemed to know more about me than I did. But truth in fact, I didn’t mind, they were kind. Towards the end of the meal, I noticed something odd. All of Gram’s friends saved small morsels from their meals, wrapped them in napkins, and put them in her weird cat-face bag. Once the clutch had passed from the last lady to my Gram, she looked inside, pulled out all the napkins’ sans food, and made a yummy sound into the bag before snapping it closed. Gram could be a little strange, but that seemed off the mark, even for her. I figured it was best to just let it go. Old ladies had strange habits, who was I to say.

The summer was a pleasant one, and each Thursday I’d go meet the ladies with Gram. On my last Thursday of the season, they presented me with my very own elaborate purple derby decked out with netting and an enormous cluster of silk peonies. I was touched, but definitely not wearing that thing.

After the yum-yum ritual, we headed for home. So far, I hadn’t been able to get Gram to explain why the women saved their scraps to put in her handbag, so when she asked me why I hadn’t tried my new hat on, I had an idea. I told her that if she would explain what was up with the leftovers that she never seemed to eat, I’d wear the hat until after dinner. She chuckled, stuck her hand out, and told me I had a deal.

After donning my Red Hatter head-gear, which if I’m being honest, didn’t look that bad, Gram called me onto the sun porch and told me to take a seat. I noticed she was holding the cat-face clutch. On the table sat a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.

I know all of this seems a bit off, but one thing to understand about Gram is that she used to be a mortician. Now retired, she shifted her fascination with death to a smaller scale and was now a taxidermist, so the bag itself wasn’t strange at all. The third eye was a bit weird, but as soon as you slap the ‘art’ label on something, pretty much whatever you did was fair game.

“So, you want to ask me about my clutch?” Gram began. I nodded as I reached for a cookie. Before I could pick one up, she gave my hand a small pat and asked me to wait. Then she said the strangest thing. While holding the bag open and pointing it towards me, she told me to put the cookies and the milk into it. I blinked for a moment, then laughed. She scowled and repeated herself. My smile faded, and I put one cookie in the purse. She said, “All of it.”

Dumbfounded, I took the plate and dumped the rest of the cookies in. She smiled and made the strange yummy sound again. Then she told me to add the rest.

“Gram, how do you expect me to put a glass of milk in that tiny thing?” I tried to make it sound humorous, but I was starting to worry about her sanity. She told me to pick up the glass and pour the milk in. At this point, I was pretty sure she was off her rocker.

Sensing my hesitation, and my judgement, she looked at me like I was the town idiot. Okay, she was calling my bluff. What do I do, destroy her sanity by pointing out how nuts that was, or ruin the handbag? I did the easier of the two and picked up the glass. Before I could pour the milk into the bag, she pulled it back and whispered, get ready, here it comes into the bag. This was quickly devolving from funny to the funny farm for my beloved Gram.

Holding the bag out again, she barked, “Do it!” And so I did.

I poured the glass from a dramatic height into the bag, milk splashed everywhere. Gram just closed her eyes and smiled.

“I’ll bet he loved that,” she murmured while faux swallowing to mimic the bag drinking.

When she opened her eyes, she looked dead at me, licked her lips, and smiled. Then she glanced into the bag. Looking back up again, she pretended to throw the contents of the little clutch at me. I ducked to avoid being covered in milk and soggy cookies, but none came out.

Gram leaned back in her chair, a satisfied look on her face.

“What… how…?” I stuttered.

She began to rock, I didn’t even know her chair rocked. For good measure, I leaned to the side to verify it actually was a rocker after what I just witnessed. Her sly grin hid more than a grandmother’s love. It held secrets, things unknown, things unspoken of even in quiet corners.

“My sweet girl, allow me the pleasure of introducing you to your grandfather.” The only thing that ran through my head was that Gram had gone coocoo for cocoa puffs, and I was gonna have to break the news to Mom.

“I’m not crazy. I know what you’re thinking, but this is your grandfather. He always loved cats, sleek, black fur his favorite. That’s why when it came time to imbue his essence in a familiar, I chose a purse. This way, I could take him with me wherever I went and he would never be lonely.” She seemed very pleased with herself, I can’t imagine the look of shock on my face. “I’m not crazy, I’m gifted. I can do things others can’t.”

Not knowing how to respond, and terrified of breaking her delusion, I decided to play along. “Did Grandfather have three eyes?” I asked.

She chuckled, “No, he had two eyes just like any other man. The third eye is a conduit – a way for us to communicate with one another.” And with that, she peeled a small prosthetic off her own forehead revealing a third eye the same color as the cats.

I ran for my room, called my mom and screamed incoherently for about 10 minutes. She finally said that she’d come pick me up right away, I just had to hang in there for about 45 minutes.

I spent that time lock in my room, hiding from Gram and whatever weirdness was taking place here. When I heard Mom’s car pull into the driveway, I grabbed my things and bolted for the front door.

I met Mom at the entry way, she was coming in as I was trying to get out. She shushed me and told me to calm down, said she wanted to talk to Gram for a minute. I was trapped, there was nothing I could do but watch as she and my grandmother spoke for a few minutes. Every now and then, one would glance my way. Then a knowing grin came across Mom’s face. She and Gram walked to the front door where I was waiting. My mother hugged Gram goodbye, then leaned down to put a kiss on the clutch and whisper, “Bye Dad.”